I will forget
by cumberlove4ever
Summary: After John and Mary's wedding Sherlock is thinking about John and his honeymoon. Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
1. I will forget

Sherlock Holmes wasn't a melancholy type. In fact, he was a proper genius, proud, sometimes selfish, usually rude. Definitely sentiment wasn't his cup of tea.

So why was he standing in this room now?

John's room. John's smell was still in the air. Sherlock smiled slightly when he noticed John's favorite mug on the bedside table, next to the book he was reading recently. The detective walked across the room and opened the wardrobe. There weren't many clothes, just a few jumpers and a jacket. With a little sigh, Sherlock ran his fingers along jumpers. His stomach made a funny thing, something like swirl.

_"Why do you have to do this? You can live here, with me, and date her."_

_"Sherlock, I-I don't know. It's just… when you love somebody, you want to live together. I want to wake up next to Mary, make her tea, kiss, when she leave, little ordinary things." John's voice was calm but when he was talking about Mary, he brightened. "I don't expect you could understand, just… accept it, could you?"_

_Accept it? His best friend – his only friend – was abandoning him and it was unbearable._

_"Sherlock, look." Now John was decided. "I'm not leaving you. I'm just getting married. I'm still working with you, we're solving cases, I just won't be here, ok?"_

_"But-"_

_"Come on, Sherlock, don't be childish."_

_Detective frowned._

_"I'm not childish, I just don't understand why-"_

_"You don't have to. Seriously, Sherlock, nothing will change."_

Everything changed.

John's wedding was today in the morning. It was a nightmare. A lot of people, dull conversations, bad music and no dead body around to amuse him. At least drinks weren't that bad.

The wedding wasn't the worst thing. It was the honeymoon. John was in the Lake District, happy with his bride. Suddenly Sherlock felt really lonely.

Why was he lonely?

_"Sherlock, don't make this puppy eyes again. It's the Lake District, not the end of the world." John was a little drunk. "And I will be back really soon." He tapped Sherlock's arm and grinned. He was really happy. Of course he's happy, it's his wedding reception, thought Sherlock. _

_"Oh, Sherlock? Don't text me, when I'll be away, ok? It will be my honeymoon and I don't want to receive photos of corpses or body parts. Please, can you do this for me?"_

_"Of course, John," Sherlock was a bit disappointed, but his face was blank. "Of course."_

He promised, so now he was sitting on the bed in John's bedroom, cuddling his jumper and thinking about nothing at all.

Lestrade called him an hour ago, but he didn't want to put up with Anderson, so he didn't pick up the phone.

The case wasn't interesting. Unbelievable.

Sherlock buried his face into the jumper and inhaled deeply. That was interesting. Fascinating. How long this smell will be there?

Then Sherlock noticed something else. In a half-opened drawer he saw a little brown bottle with pills. John's sleeping pills.

_"What's that?"_

_John had a glance at him, question in his eyes._

_"The bottle." Sherlock arched his eyebrows and pointed at the pills._

_"Oh," doctor looked down, "my sleeping pills. Since Afghanistan, I have nightmares. Not always, just sometimes," he added quickly. "So I take those pills. Sometimes." It sounded awkwardly, but Sherlock didn't push. He knew that could make more harm than good. So he didn't say anything._

Sherlock reached to the drawer. There weren't many pills, just a half of the bottle. John didn't take this with him, so probably he won't be need it. Now he has Mary, she's better than pills. Sherlock grabbed one tablet and looked at it.

He wanted to sleep. He wanted to forget. He wanted to turn off his bloody brain.

The detective took one pill. But then he thought that one isn't enough. So he took another one. And the next one.

It was good. He will forget.

He will forget John wasn't here.

He will forget about that sucking feeling in his chest.

He will forget about everything.

With a little smile he left the empty bottle on the table and laid down with John's warm jumper.

A/N This is my first fic at all, so I'm not sure if this is good, please leave review if you like this. Also, English isn't my first language, so mistakes can happen. Thanks for reading!


	2. I'll never leave you again

Disclaimer: still not mine.

Everything was a blur. Sherlock opened eyes, but then closed it again. The light was too bright.

White. Everything was white. Why? Where is he? The last thing he remembered was John's room and his cozy smell. What happened?

He heard a strange noise. The machine. Like in a hospital. Was he in the hospital? Now he could hear voices, just a murmur, behind the door.

He felt sick and wanted to vomit. His throat was sore, it was weird. And he had something on his face. What…? He tried to take it off, but then someone's warm hand grabbed his wrist.

"No, Sherlock. Leave it." Holmes relaxed, when he heard John's voice. John was here, with him. Everything was all right.

John frowned and freed Sherlock's hand. He stared at his face, trying to figure it out. Why Sherlock did this? Maybe it was an accident, but Sherlock never did anything he didn't want to. It was weird. When Lestrade called him, he didn't believe. But Lestrade seemed really serious, so Mary told him he should go to London and check it. So John came back.

Sherlock fell asleep, so John quietly left the room.

"What exactly happened?" He asked Lestrade, who was standing behind the doors. DI rubbed his face and sighed.

"I told you. I called him, but he didn't answer. It was serious case, I needed his help. So I decided to go and tell him to get his arse and solve the case. Mrs. Hudson wasn't at home, but the door was open, so I came in and found him… unconscious." Lestrade's voice broke a little. He swallowed hard. "I found the empty bottle on your bedside table, so I called to the hospital. Then I called you. That's it."

John licked his lips. He felt guilty. He left those pills in his drawer.

But how the hell could he predict something like that?

Besides, it was his wedding, damn, his bloody honeymoon, there were other things, more important.

"Did you call Mycroft?" John looked at Lestrade.

"Naah, not yet. I thought that you could-"

"Yeah, ok. But, you know, it's his brother. He should know first. Not me."

"I don't think so." Lestrade shrugged. "You are his best friend. You're closer to him than Mycroft, no matter how it sounds."

John blinked, opened his mouth and then closed it. Maybe Lestrade was right. Maybe-

"John." It was weak and quiet. John rushed to the room.

"I thought you're asleep," he said hesitantly. "I wasn't-"

"I just wanted to see you," Sherlock croaked. "I just wanted to be sure that you're here."

John came closer. "I am," he whispered. "Sleep now. You'll feel better soon."

"I'm fine. Now I'm perfectly fine." The relief in Sherlock's voice was so heartbreaking. John thought that his friend looks very vulnerable. Like never before. He leaned to him and kissed his forehead.

"I'll never leave you again. I promise," he said under his breath. And he knew that was true.


	3. It's always because of you

A/N thanks for reviews, it really means a lot for me. Let me know if you want to read another chapter :)  
Disclaimer: Not mine.

John was in the kitchen, making tea as always. Everything seemed so normal. Sherlock was sitting in his chair and looking at the other man.

"Why are you here?" he asked suddenly. John looked at him.

"Because you're weak," he answered briefly.

"John, I'm serious. Why are you here, with me?"

John grabbed their mugs with tea and walked into the room. "I'm here, with you, because you're my best friend and you were in a hospital, and now you're wrecked." He was speaking really slowly. It was true. Sherlock was pale and thin. And already annoying. "You've overdosed. That's why I'm here."

"I'm not going to do this again, I assure you."

John gave him a calculating gaze. Perhaps he was telling the true.

Perhaps not.

"Yeah. Okay. But still, you're weak and I'm your doctor, I have to take care of you." He tried to say it as a joke, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't trick anyone. Especially Sherlock.

"You should be with Mary." Detective's voice was quiet.

"Damn it, Sherlock, Mary will understand! You should see her when Lestrade… when you…" John turned his face away and bit his lips. He exhaled deeply. "When all of this happened." Still not looking at Sherlock, John sipped his tea. It was a good camouflage.

"Oh, so you're not going to talk about it." Sherlock teased with him, almost like before. John could imagine his smirk. "Thank you for information."

The army doctor blushed immediately.

"No, I'm not go… no, you know what?" Now he was angry. "I'm actually going to talk about it. We can talk right now. Talk to me, Sherlock. Come on. Why did you do this? Why did you ruin my honeymoon? Why do you have to be such dramatic? Over and over again, you always…" John stopped. My God, what am I doing?, he thought. Not that it wasn't true what he said. It was all true. And that was the reason Sherlock looked so damaged right now. "I'm… sorry. I didn't mean it, Sherlock."

Sherlock laughed bitterly and shook his head.

"Of course you did, John." John opened his mouth, but Sherlock was continuing . " You want to know why I did this? I'll tell you why. Because of you. Because I just wanted to forget that you're not here, with me. Because you were with your.. wife," this word burst off his mouth with venom, "and you were happy, but not here, not with me!" Sherlock clenched his jaw. He was panting a little. John was gazing at him, not sure if he understood. "It's always because of you, John. Always. Since the first day we met." Sherlock stood up and headed to his bedroom. He was almost there, when he heard a tiny voice. "Sherlock, but… why?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed.

"If you can't see it now, you're an idiot," he said and walked into the room, closing door.

John was sitting in the living room for long hours, just staring at this door.


	4. He's always coming back

"John? What are you thinking about?" Mary was a little unsure. John was lying in bed, eyes closed, but she knew he wasn't sleeping. He swallowed hard.  
"Nothing," he murmured under his breath. "Just… nothing."  
Mary frowned at him, but said nothing. They could talk later, in the morning.

But later someone from the surgery called John and he has to go to work. When he was back, Mary was sitting in the living room, with tea and cookies. She looked beautiful, with her blonde hair and big, innocent eyes. She gave him a serious gaze. "So? Can we talk now?" she asked softly. John blinked and turned his eyes away. Suddenly the wall was very fascinating.  
"About…?"  
Mary sighed. "John, there's something you're not telling me. I'm… confused."  
_Oh my God, what I'm not telling you? Where should I start?  
_"Honey, I'm sorry," he kissed her gently. "I may act a little strange, but it's just because this is… this whole situation… is new for me."  
"'This whole situation' is our marriage, isn't it?" She smiled slightly and kissed him back.  
"Yes," he said.  
_No, it's not, it's about us, and Sherlock, and, fuck, what's happening in my life…  
_"Yes, exactly."

Sherlock wasn't _sulking_. He was just lying on the coach and _thinking_.  
It wasn't _sulking_.  
Apparently, Lestrade was thinking something else. He was huffing at him and sighing; it annoyed Sherlock but he wasn't telling anything, because he was sulking. _Thinking_. Yes. Lestrade sighed again.  
"Lestrade, what are you doing here? Don't you need to check if you're in another place?"  
Lestrade clenched his jaw and cursed under his breath. Then he said loudly:  
"Actually no, Sherlock. I have to stay here and watch over you."  
Sherlock arched an eyebrow and smiled slightly. That could be something interesting. "Why?" he asked softly.  
"John made me. And you know it. He said that you're-"  
"-weak, ill and damaged, I know."  
"No. He said that you're the most annoying bastard he ever met and he's not gonna see you again." Sherlock opened his mouth like a little fish. "Though, I think he exaggerated a bit." Lestrade was rather certain.  
"Oh, did he?" That was really quiet.  
"Yes. Because he's always coming back." Lestrade went to the kitchen to make another cup of tea, but he didn't find milk in the fridge, so he yelled "Where's the milk?"  
"What do you mean he's always coming back?" DI could almost see Sherlock, sitting on the sofa and frowning deeply.  
"Never mind. I was asking-"  
"I know. No John on Baker Street equals no milk, apparently. Didn't you notice that?" Detective was now petulant.  
"Yeah," Lestrade went back to the room with his cuppa. "By the way, what have you done this time? He was really nervous recently, you know. Did you blow something up?" He gave him a disapproval gaze. "Seriously, Sherlock, you and your experiments."  
"It wasn't an experiment, it was… it's none of your business."  
"Ouch, touchy." Sherlock gasped and turned on his back.  
"I'm not gonna talk about it with you." His voice was cold as ice. Lestrade blinked a few times, confused.  
"Geez, Sherlock, I was curious. I just think-"  
"Don't think, then."

"So, how is he?"  
"If you're so worried about him, go and check!" Lestrade was pissed. He was putting up with Sherlock Bloody Holmes for one week and that was enough. Enough for a one lifetime. He shivered. He didn't want to see him again. Not this time, John, he thought. "He asked me about you, you know?"  
"Yeah? So what?" John shrugged and looked somewhere behind him.  
"So, maybe go and take care of him by yourself, 'cause I'm not gonna do this. He's an utter-"  
"I know." The doctor snorted. Really? "I know, Greg. Could you just do this for me and check-"  
"No." Lestrade exhaled deeply. Twice. "No, John, not this time. I think I've overdosed Sherlock Holmes."  
"Was that a pun?" John's face looked weird. Lestrade gave himself a mental kick. "No, of course not, I'm sorry, bad words."  
"Yeah, I suppose. Ok, if you're sure…" One look on Lestrade's face told him that he was absolutely sure, "I'll check him today. It's the least I can do."  
Lestrade rolled his eyes. He was just as dramatic as Sherlock.

_'If you can't see it now, you're an idiot.' _ Oh, yes, Sherlock, that was so clever. Detective rubbed his face with both palms and moaned. So clever. Now you're just sitting here alone, because you can't keep your tongue on a leash. Strange noise burst out of his throat.  
He wasn't considering it, it wasn't planned, it was just… well, just the truth. He didn't knew what this mean, he just wanted John around, near to him. As close as possible.  
Oh, no no no. That was wrong. He didn't…  
Did he?  
The groan seemed even louder in the empty room because of echo. Throbbing ache was still in his chest. It was terrible.  
"Sherlock? Are you alright?" John was standing on a threshold. His voice made Holmes sick, he felt his stomach swirling. What the hell is going on with him?  
"Sher- oh." Now he could heard a relief in his doctor's voice. "Ok. I just thought that you're- well, if you're fine, that's ok, so… yeah. I'm going home." _His forehead is covered with sweat and his hands are shaking, he's nervous, but anxious in his eyes disappeared, so he was worried about me. He's licking his lips, he's embarrassed, and he's not looking at me, so it's obviously me who embarrasses him. He has met Lestrade not so long ago, I still can smell the cigarette smoke, Lestrade, you've told me you're giving up. Great, so it's just the body, brain is working perfectly. But there's something I'm missing, something, something, it's in his body, the tension, what is that?  
_"Yes, John, I'm fine. If you have a minute, maybe stay and make some tea, if you fancy?"  
"No Sherlock, I must go home, Mary's waiting and…"  
"John, wait-" Too late. John disappeared and Sherlock was alone. Again.


	5. I need you to solving cases

**A/N **Hey guys, I'm really sorry that this took me so long, I wrote this chapter like a week ago but I was too lazy to type it. And it's short and it sucks, but honestly, I've been trying to make it better and I was rewriting it and goddammit, this is the best version of this crap. Sorry again. But I think I know what I'm doing with this fic now, so I'll try to do my best, I promise. Longer chapters at least.  
Thanks for all who rewieved, favourited or followed this story, you really make my day guys!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything, blah blah, characters aren't mine, I own only this story.

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**5. I need you to solving cases**

John didn't come home. He was wandering around, thinking about everything considering every possible version of accidents. After a few hours of walking in a thick fog he was damp and mentally exhausted. Mary was thinking that he's with Sherlock, Sherlock – that he's with Mary at home. But he was… here. Thinking about both of them. What the hell happened? When did it start?  
Since Sherlock overdosed. Yes. (No, it started before, it started when they met, Sherlock was right, as always, but what was that? What started?) 'Damn,' he muttered and turned on his heels. He has to go home. Now.

I'm sorry – SH  
John frowned. What?  
For what? – JW  
The response came quickly.  
I don't know. But I think I should – SH  
Why? – JW  
Like I said – I don't know – SH  
Oh no, texts aren't good, thought John. He grabbed his jacket and left house without bothering about empty mugs on the coffee table.

The doctor caught a taxi and pulled out on Baker Street. He was standing on a pavement, when he'd heard the sound of violin. Sad, slow tune. John sighed. That was ridiculous, but he felt a strange sensation in his chest.  
'Oh, for goodness sake,' he muttered under his breath and went into the flat. Sherlock was playing and looking through the window. His blue silk dressing gown was on the sofa. John was standing on the threshold and looking at the dark-haired genius, at his pale neck and muscles of his back.  
'Hello John.'  
John swallowed hard, a big piece of… something, clearing his throat.  
'Hi.'  
'Come in, why are you standing there?' His voice was quiet, just like his mind was far away. He didn't turn around, but now his bow was motionless. John went through the door and slumped down into his armchair.  
'Okay. I'm listening,' he said. He was decided to talk with Sherlock now. He knew that if he'd be waiting, it will be worst.  
Sherlock finally faced him. He left his violin on the table and came closer to him. He was still thin, but he looked stronger. Good. His odd, blue-green eyes were shining under black curls on his forehead.  
'You're listening... to me?'  
'No, Mrs. Hudson! Yes, Sherlock, I'm listening to you. Tell me what do you mean by "I'm sorry", 'cause I don't understand.' He was looking at Sherlock's face, blank, with no emotions. Suddenly Sherlock furrowed his brows.  
'I said "I'm sorry", and that's what I meant. I just… I feel… I don't want you to be mad. I want to have you… around me. For cases, of course. I need you to solving cases,' he added quickly with anxiety.  
John stared at him in surprise. That's all? Of course not. Liar.  
'Yeah, ok. We're solving cases. Together. As always. But,' he said, raising one finger, 'I want to have a proper honeymoon first. I'm gonna go to the bloody Lake District and enjoy it. So, after that, I'm all yours.' He made a face when he realized what he'd said. 'Almost all yours', he corrected himself. Yeah, that was better.  
Sherlock's bottom lip quivered a little. He bit it and then said with a little shaky voice, 'Yeah, yours… holidays. Enjoy.'  
'I will. So,' John reached his hand, 'friends?'  
Sherlock sighed and smiled slightly, then grabbed John's hand and shook it. 'Friends,' he nodded.

The doctor grasped his jacket and left the flat.


	6. For you I can make an exception

That was an awful week. Truly awful. No cases. No body parts for experiments from Molly.  
No John around him.  
Sherlock was just lying on his settee, as always, or wandering around the flat. Bored, bored, _bored_. Why there isn't something to distract him?  
But then, he thought about John. He smiled, when he remembered their arrangement. 'Friends', really, John? Sherlock snorted. That was unbelievable.  
During this week, when John had his bloody honeymoon, Sherlock was thinking a lot about him, about… them. What he wanted was John to be happy. John was happy with Mary.  
But why couldn't he be happy with Sherlock as well?  
There was really no reason.  
So now Sherlock was thinking about something what could make John to get rid of Mary. Well, not literally. Just… to make John to be with me, Sherlock rephrased his thoughts.  
And suddenly little idea just popped in his head. It wasn't something extraordinary, honestly, it was simple – and that's why it won't fail. Sherlock was sure.  
So he started planning.

John had left Mary during their first honeymoon and he didn't intend to do that again. Although, he couldn't deny, he wasn't enjoying it as much as he should. And he knew exactly who were to blame.  
But he tried. It was quite amusing, they were visiting, walking in the forest and sailing, lakes were beautiful, Mary was beautiful too, of course… It wasn't whole month, just to make everything clear. Those things with Sherlock … Well, enough to said that it wasn't month, just two weeks.  
And John was happy. Because he couldn't imagine a whole, long month like this. Well, nights were quite enjoyable, of course, he was the very first person to say that, but days…  
It was… just…

Boring.

Hell, he was avoiding this, but let's face it, he was bored as fuck. He missed everything – adrenaline, danger, running through alleys and chasing murderers.  
So when the honeymoon was over, he was glad – even if he knew he shouldn't.  
Mary probably had been seeing that something was wrong, but she didn't push. And he was grateful for that. What he was supposed to say? 'I miss Sherlock?' 'I want to solve a good case with him?' 'I think about a possibility that he's attracted to me?' It was their honeymoon and he didn't want to spoil it.  
But now it was over. They were back in London. And he could go and see Sherlock.  
He was immensely scared, but he wanted to see him.  
This time he didn't want to get a cab, so he was walking down Baker Street. London's air filling his lungs, thoughts filling his mind. He didn't know what he'll see. Maybe Sherlock was a wreck again…  
No. Stop it. Lestrade would let you know.

Right. If we're talking about Lestrade… John narrowed his eyes. He was near by 221B when he saw Lestrade leaving the flat and going in different direction. He had hands in his pockets and looked… suspiciously. Maybe because of his rush.  
Or maybe because he just left Sherlock's flat.  
John was rather anxious, but when he entered the flat, he found it completely normal. Well, if 'normal' was a good word to say about anything related with Sherlock Holmes. But, as usual, it was messy, full of papers and chemical instruments. And there was Sherlock… sitting on his chair in his 'thinking position'; hands under his chin, eyes shut. Obviously, he knew John was here.  
"Hello, John," he said, opening his eyes. "You're just in time."  
John blinked. Why he had to be so confusing? And why was he so… happy? This glint in his eyes…  
"So… you're back."  
"Yeeah…" John was careful. It was Sherlock, and he was enjoying the situation, it meant something was going-  
"Obviously. So, if you're here, I have a little… proposition," he started talking, his voice was lower than usual. John felt himself even more unsure. "As you could see, I have feelings for you, a strong one-"  
"Sherl-"  
"No, stop. Now I am talking," said Sherlock, doing a strange motion with his hand. "I know that you have Mary and everything," John opened his mouth, but Sherlock was still talking. "And I accept it. All I want… is a chance."  
John tried to say anything, but no sound escaped his mouth. That… was… ridiculous. He was married. He certainly wasn't gay. Sherlock was his best friend and he didn't want…  
"Okay." It echoed in the room. John was surprised, when he'd heard his own voice.  
"Oh. I wasn't expecting you to agree so quickly," said Sherlock with little smug on his face. John took a deep breath.  
"Sherlock, I- what do you exactly mean by 'chance'?"  
"Just a few little things, you know. Few dates-"  
"Dates?" It burst from his chest, literally. Sherlock Holmes? On a date? What the, actually, fuck? Now John was certain that it all was a big, mad dream. Because that was impossible, wasn't it?  
"Yes, dates. When two people, who likes each other, go out and have fun. You probably know more about it than I do, I'm sure." Why he's so calm, wondered John. That was crazy.  
"You don't go on… dates, do you?" He asked, just to be sure. And Sherlock shocked him one more time.  
"For you I can make an exception."  
John was looking everywhere just to not look at his… at Sherlock. That was something new. Sherlock didn't make any exceptions… for anyone. He was just stubborn and immature like five-year-old.  
"I've thought about it a lot," _Oh, god, that's scary_, "and I suppose I've found a good way to make it bearable to you." _No shit, Sherlock, bearable?_ "I think that one date a week will do."  
John blinked and frowned. Okay. That wasn't bad. Well, despite the little fact that he was thinking about date with Sherlock. If two years ago someone would told him something like this… Oh god.  
"So when are we supposed to start? And what do you-"  
"Maybe today?" Sherlock stood quickly and started reaching for his coat and blue scarf.  
"Today? No no no, Sherlock, stop, calm down, not today. Today I…" He wanted to say that he has date with Mary, little restaurant, candles, but he knew Sherlock would be hurt. "Today I have to get some rest, tomorrow I'm going to the surgery." He felt Sherlock's eyes on him, he was observing, deducing him, but he didn't say anything. He sat back on his chair.  
"Okay then. Friday?"  
John exhaled with a relief. Enough time to prepare himself.  
"Yeah. Friday."

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**A/N I love the feedback, so let me know if you like it. Or hate it. Or whatever. Also, you can tell me what do you want them to do on their dates, I'll try to do something you'd like ;) See ya!**


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